The Words We Can Say
by lickitysplit
Summary: Series of scenes and one-shots about one of my favorite couples, Margaret and Gilthunder! Part of a writing prompt challenge: "ways to say I love you". NOW POSTED: "With A Shuddering Gasp" (Warning for M rating on this chapter!)
1. As A Hello

**A/N:** Welcome! This fic is going to be a series of oneshots and scenes based on a list of prompts for "ways to say I love you". It's a writing challenge I am taking on with my dear friends **BettyBest2** and **woundedowl** , who are also publishing their own pieces! Look for an update every few days.

All of my pieces are going to be about one of my _favorite_ couples in NNT, Margaret and Gilthunder. Some will be in canon, some will be AU, but they won't be in any necessary order and should be taken individually. I'm always pleased to hear the good, bad, and the ugly, so feel free to leave a review. And make sure you check out the other two fics that go with this prompt! They are two of the best writers on this site and I know you won't be disappointed.

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 **1\. As A Hello**

Margaret paced in the hall, waiting for Gilthunder. It wasn't like him to be late-in fact, he was _never_ late-and the old fears were swirling like unwelcome friends. Did something happen to him? Was he okay? The questions that plagued her for ten years danced in her mind, accompanied by new thoughts: Did he leave? Did he decide that seeing her was too painful? That being in Liones was too painful?

 _Nonsense, nonsense_ , she thought to herself, but kept pacing.

It was her father's birthday and they were due to have a family dinner. Both of her sisters excitedly took up the reins of the planning. But to Margaret, who was still getting used to happiness, still getting used to _friends_ , swallowed nervously at the thought. She was even more taken aback when the others suggested _dates_ , and had immediately gone to Gilthunder to beg him to accompany her.

Of course he agreed. She should have known that. Yet the relief was still palpable, knowing he would be there.

 _So where is he then?_ Her nerves were getting the better of her. Perhaps she told him the wrong day? The wrong time? She glanced at the clock. He was due two minutes ago… three minutes ago.

Maybe they found out they had seen one another? Her eyes swept the walls around her, searching for the cursed chimera that was always present, always watching. If word had been sent back to Vivian… or Hendrickson…

Her heart began to pound with panic, before she _remembered_. It was over, it was all over. Gil was safe, she was safe, the curse was gone. It was time to be _normal_.

That was easier said than done. With a wring of her hands, Margaret forced herself to calm. The mask she always turned to when the fear became too much was somewhat of a relief, and she sank into the feeling with a slow release of her breath. If Gilthunder was not coming, she could still be strong. She _had_ to be strong.

Finally she heard the familiar footsteps, saw the familiar sweep of rose-colored hair. With a heaving sigh of relief she hurried towards him, and without even a thought she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "You came! Oh, I was so worried!"

"Of course I came," he laughed, running a hand through her hair. "I love you."

Instantly they both froze. Margaret sucked in a breath, feeling her body start to shake. It was _forbidden_ for them to even _talk_ to one another, and if they found out about this confession… found out what they were feeling…

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, pulling from her embrace. Her arms were suddenly cold with him gone. "I shouldn't have said that, I shouldn't have just… just _blurted_ that out." Her eyes widened to see his cheeks turning a bit pink. "You deserve more than that, and I…"

"You love me?" she whispered, barely breathing as he stilled, and then nodded. "You love me," she said again.

The spell was lifted, the curse was gone. This was real life, the nightmare was over, and Gil loved her. With those words it became real, actually _real_ , and Margaret smiled, for real this time.


	2. A Hoarse Voice Under The Blanket

**2\. With A Hoarse Voice, Under The Blankets**

" _Where is she?"_

Gilthunder's voice boomed through the hallways, causing soldiers, staff, and servants alike to stop what they were doing and gape at the Holy Knight now storming down the corridor.

"Please, Sir!" a servant girl cried shrilly, grabbing her skirts to hurry behind him. "The princess is not to be disturbed!"

Gilthunder did not answer, but simply continued to stalk towards the suite that belonged to the first princess. A firm hand grabbed his arm, which he shook off as he jerked away.

"Gil!" Howzer shouted, clutching for him again. "You need to calm down!"

"How can I calm down?" he cried. He whirled on his friend, who stopped abruptly to keep from crashing into him. "There is something wrong with Margaret and no one will tell me _anything_."

He watched as his friend took a deep breath, holding out his palms up. "I know. But just wait a minute and _listen_. Margaret asked the servants not to tell you. You can't blame them for following directions-"

"I'll blame whomever I _want_ ," hissed Gilthunder. Internally he cringed at how ridiculous he sounded, but in this moment, he could not care.

The princess had not been seen in several days, and at first he had not thought much about the note he received to cancel a ride they had arranged. Then she had failed to appear at a formal dinner, claiming a headache, then the next day he had heard a meeting was cancelled regarding the new health clinic. When the knight had tried to send her a message the next day, it went unanswered.

Unsettled by her unusual disappearance, Gilthunder had arrived at the castle to be told the princess was not there. But after further pressing the guards, they admitted that she was in the castle, but not taking visitors.

"They are keeping her from me," he snapped at Howzer. It was unlike him to be so angry, and he could see a change in his friend's eyes with his harsh words. Yet he could not help the accusation that came out, or the tinge of panic that edged his voice.

They had spent _so long_ in fear, so very long waiting for the moment that one would be killed, or the other; he would have welcomed his own death many times to know that Margaret would be safe. But it was not to be, and after months and years of waiting and lies, finally they were free from their prison. And now she was missing? Being kept from him?

His fists clenched before his fingers danced over the hilt of his sword, and Howzer took a step back, his hands still raised. "I get it, I really do," answered the knight. "But you need to get a hold of yourself. Scaring the staff and making threats won't help us here."

Gilthunder grit his teeth at the word _us_. When had there ever been an _us_ , besides him and Margaret? No one had known, no one had ever cared to investigate-and he had carried this burden by himself, as a child, his life and Margaret's life hanging by a thread under a guillotine. There was no _us_.

 _But that's over now_ , he reminded himself, one of many times. The familiar coldness he had used for so many years to keep himself from feeling anything was like ice in his veins. He gave himself a beat, and then another, and slowly he nodded. His breath came in short gasps, the warmth returning to his skin. "You're right," he finally rasped. "I just-"

"Okay," Howzer said quickly before turning and leading the way this time. "Open this door!" he commanded to the ladies-in-waiting who stood before it.

"Sir!" said the head girl, stepping forward with her arms folded. Gilthunder would have been amused at such a fair creature stepping up toe-to-toe with two high ranking Holy Knights, armed only with a handkerchief to ward off their weapons. "The Princess Margaret can _not_ be disturbed! We have strict orders-"

"Stuff your orders in a sack," Howzer snapped, earning a gasp from the ladies and a scowl from his adversary. "This is Holy Knight Gilthunder, and he _will_ see the princess."

The lady swallowed visibly, but she lifted her chin in defiance. Instead of addressing Howzer, however, she turned and looked straight at Gilthunder. "Sir," she said slowly, "I understand your need to see the princess. But I must beg you, please do not enter this room. Her Highness does not wish to be seen."

Gilthunder frowned. "But what is wrong? I need to know. I need to see she's all right."

The girl huffed. "You must take my word for it. My lady will send word when she wants to see you. Would you disregard her wishes so easily?"

A silence hung among the group as the Holy Knights looked at one another. "Yes," Gilthunder finally said, easily pushing past the line of servants.

"Sir!" the leader squealed behind him, and then he heard Howzer step in, and an argument go up; but he ignored them and the protests of the others, quickly pushing open the door and stepping inside.

He closed it firmly behind him, locking it for good measure, and then turned to survey the room. It was bathed in darkness, the only light coming from behind a curtain pulled over the large windows. "Margaret?" he said quietly, stepping inside. "Margaret? It's me."

"Don't come any closer!" came a muffled voice, and he turned to the pile of blankets that served as the source.

"Margaret," he said again, sterner this time. "You have been refusing to see me, or come out, and I want to know what is-"

"Gil, please!" Her voice was higher this time, pleading, and without another moment's hesitation he quickly headed towards the bed. He reached out and tugged on the blanket, and a cry came from underneath. "You have to go!"

Exasperated, he huffed, "What in the world is-"

Once the blanket was pulled away, he pulled back in shock. His eyes roamed over the princess, who looked almost unrecognizable. Her hair, normally smoothed into a beautiful twist or soft layers down her back, was wild and teased in every direction. Her expression was pallid, her eyes lined with dark rings, her nightgown hanging lopsidedly on her thin frame. But the most shocking thing was the large red spots that covered the princess all over.

"Margaret?" he said incredulously, and she buried her face in her hands. "What happened?"

"It's chicken pox," she moaned. "I look-oh, I look so dreadful! And I'm feverish and sick, and I can't do anything but wait for it to run its course!"

Gil blew out a breath, a bit of a laugh in relief. "What about the doctor? Or Elizabeth?"

Margaret sighed sadly. "Elizabeth isn't back yet, she went with the Sins on some expedition. And the doctor has been here, but could only give me something to help with the itching." She peeked out at him through her fingers. "Do I… Am I very shocking?"

"Of course not," he laughed. With a sad smile, he sat on the bed and asked gently, "Why didn't you just send word?"

"I didn't want you to worry," she sniffled. "And I definitely didn't want you to see… see _this_."

Her breath caught as her eyes grew watery, and Gilthunder nodded. "I'm sorry I barrelled in here. I think I offended your ladies, and I know Howzer did. But they are a credit to you, they were quite protective."

He regarded her again, the corner of his mouth twitching at the absurdity of what just occurred. Of all of the problems he could imagine, all the terrible things that could have befallen Margaret, chicken pox was the last thing he ever considered. "Can I… Can I do anything?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Please go and spare me the humiliation of being seen like this."

"Margaret…" he insisted, but she shook her head. "Please, Gil? I can bear this, but I can't bear for _you_ to see me like this."

He pursed his lips, unsure if he should give in to the request, before finally nodding. Standing awkwardly, Gilthunder hesitated, wondering if he should give Margaret a kiss; but before he could decide, she covered herself in the blanket and disappeared underneath. "Feel better then, Margaret," he said. When there was no response, he went on, "I love you."

"I love you too," came the hoarse reply from under the blanket.

He patted the lump reassuringly and then headed back for the door. There was arguing and banging coming from the other side, and he sighed to himself thinking of the apologies he was going to have to give out now.


	3. As A Scream

**3\. As A Scream**

The thunder was deafening. Servants cowered in the corners of the castle, horses screamed, soldiers and knights running _everywhere_. Their cries were for the king, for the Grand Masters, for God, for _anyone_ to save them from the threat of the Seven Deadly Sins. To deliver them from the evil of the traitors and murderers were were now attacking the city.

Through it all, above the screams, the thunder rolled.

Margaret, the first princess of Liones, sat in a chair and listened to the din. The sound of the thunder shook her to her soul, because she knew that the magic was not coming from the Seven Deadly Sins. Just like she knew that the Sins were not the traitors and murderers they had been branded. Like she knew that right at that moment, her love was going to die, and it was all her fault.

There was another crash, and her stomach rolled.

Slowly the princess stood. She blocked out the shouts surrounding her and walked through the halls of the castle, and in the chaos no one thought to stop her. Margaret could feel the shadow following her, the heavy presence just outside of her vision that had been there for a decade. The reason for the fear and the fighting that was raging just outside of the castle walls. The reason for the crash of thunder and the flash of lightning that was sending the kingdom into panic.

This was all her fault. Margaret had chosen to live the life of a coward, and now she refused to continue. She was no better than those that had killed Zaratras. They had killed the father; now she was killing the son.

Her heart tightened and her feet picked up speed. Someone shouted behind her to stop, but she paid no attention. The presence was getting closer, pricking her skin like a mosquito. But the sorceress was occupied, wasn't she? Right now, she was fighting alongside of Gilthunder, trying to kill the one that she had hoped would save them. Not that it mattered; Margaret no longer cared.

For ten years, she had cared so much, _too much_ , her fear of death and of being torn away from her family and of causing Gilthunder more pain keeping her immobile. She was the first princess, the daughter of the king, heir to the throne of Liones. She should have been a beacon for her people. She should have been the touchstone of kindness and generosity for the kingdom.

Instead, she was a shell. A pretty face, a few pleasant words, and nothing more. Everything was dangerous, every _one_ a suspect. One false move and the sorceress would know. Her enemies would know. Then it would be over.

Sometimes she had longed for it, like she did now. The freedom to move and to breathe, to say what she thought, to curse at those who hurt her, to whisper her heart into Gilthunder's ear. Margaret felt so _many many_ things: hate and love and jealousy and desire and the urge to run and laugh and cry at it all. She would watch her fiery sister Veronica and her spirited sister Elizabeth and feel the pit inside of her growing, aching to be filled. But the only thing she had to fill it with was more fear.

"No more," she gasped, the sky exploding with another attack. The wind was whipping everywhere, her hair a mess of tangles behind her. The hair on her arms stood on end from the electricity in the air, and she could feel a buzzing inside of her. When Margaret realized it was excitement, it spurred her on to the staircase ahead.

As she climbed she remembered that day when they were little, when Gilthunder had promised on his heart and swore as a knight to protect her always. The emptiness inside of her twinged in an unfamiliar way to think of it, and she nearly gasped as she continued up the steps. It was that promise that had been his undoing, his oath that had tied them together in a nightmare. _It was all her fault_.

"You didn't realize it," she said aloud. The stone of the wall was cold under her hand as she gripped the side as she climbed. "You've been killing your own heart for ten years. _I've_ been killing you."

Margaret reached the top, her lungs burning and her face flushed. She crept to the edge of the wall and looked down. From her spot she could see almost the whole city, the turret serving as a lookout on any other day. But this wasn't any other day, was it? The Seven Deadly Sins had arrived to infiltrate the kingdom. The Holy Knights were locked in fearsome combat with them to protect the king and the city. Men and women were giving their very lives at that moment, and that moment was a _lie_.

"I will free you," she whispered. It was easy to spot the pink hair and the flashing armor, although the movements were so fast an untrained eye like hers could barely keep up. He moved with a blur of blonde, the magic exploding in bursts of energy that left her ears ringing and her heart racing. "Please, be free of me!"

The last thought she had as she looked down was that she had not cried. Not a tear had been shed in ten years. So many people had remarked on her calm demeanor, as if it was a credit to her to be so cold. As if not being able to cry was a trait to be admired. Margaret wanted to cry, wanted it _desperately_ , but how can someone with no soul cry? Even now, staring at the cobblestone below that would soon be red with her blood, the urge to cry was not there.

There was another crash, a louder one this time, and her eyes snapped up. The dust was settling, and she could see that Meliodas was injured. The three were circling him, their magic swirling around them for one decisive attack. _Gil is going to kill him_ , she thought, and it was then that the silent princess shouted.

"Gilthunder!" she yelled. "Please, _stop_!"

But he did not stop, he did not even turn around, and so Margaret acted. Quickly she scrambled up onto the stone wall and jumped. "Gil! I love you!" screamed the princess, but the air swallowed her cry as she fell. It was then, only then, that a tear fell; time seemed to slow as she watched the drop float above her vision, and she prayed he would understand.

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 **A/N:** Just wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who has been reading! And please make sure you are following the works by BettyBest2 and woundedowl. They are both knocking it out of the park with this prompt! I gotta step up my game in the upcoming chapters...


	4. Over A Cup Of Tea

**4\. Over a Cup of Tea**

Gilthunder fidgeted nervously in his seat. Before him a small table was decorated with a very beautiful and very expensive tea set, delicate white china hand painted with the symbols of Liones on the side. He reached out to adjust his own cup, sitting prettily on its saucer, moving the teaspoon next to it over just a bit to realign. Clearing his throat, he swallowed as he tapped his fingers on his knee, glancing at the door.

He knew he was early… but _damn_. His pulse was thudding under his skin, and he took a deep breath, letting it go shakily. Looking around, he took in the familiar plush curtains, the patterned rug, the lace tablecloth. It was all familiar, as he had been to tea a hundred times before in the royal palace. Yet he had never been so positively _terrified_.

The door opened and he was on his feet in a flash, nearly knocking over his chair in his clumsiness. Gilthunder sucked in a deep breath and took a step away from the table, crossing one arm over his chest and giving the king a bow as he entered. "Your Majesty," he said stiffly, cringing at the formality, at his uncertainty.

"Gilthunder!" Baltra said in his rich voice. The knight stood up straight, his eyes on the monarch for a moment before they slid to the beauty that followed him. His heart gave a little flip- _will it ever stop doing that?_ he wondered-as the brown eyes landed on him. Instantly he felt warm, and he prayed that he was not blushing as the princess smiled at him.

The shape of her body, the way her dress accentuated her curves and the glow of her skin, the slope of her neck, the pink lips that curved at the sight of him… he hoped it never would stop, because that would probably mean he was dead.

The king was going on about how wonderful it was to see him, thanking him for coming, but Gilthunder's attention was solely on Margaret. Quickly he pulled out her chair, pushing it in as he had been trained as a gentleman and a knight for years and years. He longed to pause and drag his fingertips over the back of her neck, which was exposed by the sweeping updo of lavender hair, only a few wayward wisps laying gently on her white skin. But he resisted, not wanting to give anything away. This was too important to give in to his foolish desires.

The king sat next to his daughter, so Gilthunder took the chair opposite. Margaret smiled at him from across the table, her eyes bright. "Thank you for having me," Gilthunder said, his gaze remaining on the princess. Her chest rose slightly as she breathed in, and he started sinking as he watched her lips part slightly.

"Of course, of course," was the king's gruff reply, and the sound of his voice snapped them both out of the moment. Margaret ducked her head and stifled a giggle, even as Gilthunder cleared his throat and looked away. "Will you do the honors, my dear?"

"Yes, Father," Margaret said, and the knight sighed. _Get a grip_ , he chastised himself. He was an adult, but acting as if he was twelve instead of twenty-one. As if he hadn't sat with Margaret a thousand times before! As if he had never seen a girl smile at him before. As if he had never noticed the color of her lips before.

His skin felt too tight as he watched her pour the tea, thinking of those lips, and how they had felt under his the night of the celebration. They had stood under the fireworks, and he had held her the way he had been dreaming of for years, before he even knew what love was. And they had kissed, a perfect moment with his perfect princess, her lips soft as they slid against his, opening slightly with her little breath…

"Sugar, Sir Gilthunder?" Again he was snapped out of his daydream, and quickly nodded in answer to her question. The princess gave him a curious look before dropping two lumps into his cup.

To cover his nerves, Gilthunder took up his spoon and stirred his drink, the utensil making a loud clinking noise that seemed to echo in the room and shake his very bones. He cleared his throat and grasped the cup, taking a hasty sip that left him wincing as the too-hot tea slid down his tongue and throat.

When he returned the cup to his saucer, he found the king's heavy gaze on him. "Everything all right there, my boy?" he asked with a frown.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, Sire," Gilthunder answered.

"Good." The king took his own sip of tea, nodding as he replaced the cup. "That is good, because we have a matter to discuss."

Baltra's sharp eyes had him feeling a bit pinned, and he rubbed his palms on his thighs. "Y-yes Sir," he stammered.

"Well, let's not drag this out any more," said the king in a serious tone. "You want to marry my daughter."

There, it was said aloud. Heat flared up the back of Gilthunder's neck, but he forced himself to nod, clearing his throat again as he glanced over at Margaret. Her own cheeks were dusted a light pink, but her small smile gave him strength. "Yes, I wish to ask for Margaret's hand."

Her smile turned into a grin, her entire face lighting up instantly, and Gilthunder sat amazed at the change. He would never get tired of seeing those smiles, he decided; not after the years of the stoic and cold princess. He would make sure she looked like that all the time. It was the least he could do for failing to protect her for so long.

Turning back to Baltra, Gilthunder said firmly. "I want to marry Princess Margaret. I love her."

The request official now, the knight could only wait. He had asked Margaret to marry him two days previously, and she had wept and laughed with happiness, launching into his embrace and covering his face with soft kisses. He had kissed her back until they were both breathless, holding her close against him, his heart thudding loudly as they shared a perfect moment. It was still so odd to him at times to feel so much happiness; to feel so much of _anything_ at times.

But the happiness was short-lived as Margaret had filled him in on what marrying a princess would mean; the formal announcements, the ceremonies, the transfer of titles, the responsibilities. Gilthunder felt that he could tackle it all, as long as he got through this first task: getting the permission of the king.

"Hmmm." The king took another sip of his tea, then reached out to take one of the little cakes from the tray in the center of the table. One solid minute ticked by, one that felt like a thousand, as both of them watched the king nibble on his treat. Baltra let out a little hum of approval as he finished, grabbing his napkin and dabbing his mouth before laying it back on his lap.

As he reached for another, Margret said, "Father? You haven't answered Gilthunder."

The king still did not reply, only plucking a cookie up next. Gilthunder looked at the princess briefly, noting the little change in her face as her lips pressed together and her eyes hardened just a bit.

"Marrying the princess means you cannot be Grand Master," Baltra said without looking over.

Gilthunder nodded, ready for that question. "I do not want the position. Even if you are to deny the marriage, I still would not want to be Great Holy Knight. Howzer is doing a fine job, and I don't want to disrupt the work he is doing."

"Hmmm." Another minute, another cake, and he sat waiting. What else could he want to know? Wasn't he good enough to have the princess? His heart began to sink as Baltra continued ignoring him. Maybe the king already had a husband in mind for his eldest daughter? She had never mentioned it, but that didn't mean there wasn't an arrangement long decided.

Or, perhaps he _was_ unworthy. He had done a great many evils as a Holy Knight, serving under Hendrickson. Although he had been trying to make things right, the king could hold it against him. _As well he should_ , Gil thought sadly.

"Do you know what marriage means, Gil?" the king asked unexpectedly, popping the sandwich in his mouth.

The knight frowned in confusion. "I-yes, I think so. I mean, I want to spend my life with Margaret." He swallowed nervously. "I want to make her happy."

"Yes, yes, that's what everyone says." Baltra waved his hand dismissively before taking another sip of tea. "But do you know what marriage _really_ is?"

The two exchange another bewildered look. "Would you be so kind as to enlighten me, Your Grace?" Gilthunder asked.

Baltra refilled his cup as he said, "It's seeing her sick, seeing her upset. It's being in trouble most of the time, and angry the rest. It's putting up with her messiness and her moods and the very unpleasant way she snores."

"Father!" Margaret exclaimed, gripping the edge of the table. "What on earth-?!"

"Oh Margaret, I'm only teasing," he said, and Baltra leaned over towards him a bit and looked at the knight through narrowed eyes. "You did know I was teasing, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes Sir, yes." Gilthunder let out a breath in a laugh. His chest had felt tighter and tighter as the king had spoke, and was glad that Margaret's fury had cut through the very thick tension.

"Good. Because my daughter does not snore."

The king went back to selecting from the tray of cakes, and Gilthunder looked up at Margaret. Her blush had deepened a bit, her face still fuming, but he could not help but laugh to himself when she looked back at him. "I love you," he mouthed silently at her, and to his delight, she stifled her own giggle and smiled. "I love you," she mouthed back.

"Speaking of snoring," the king said as he helped himself to two more cakes, "how many children are you planning?"

Gilthunder's eyes went wide as another flash of heat shot straight up his neck, and felt frozen as Margaret laughed and gave her father a playful swat. "Would you please behave!" she laughed, and Baltra simply chuckled, popping another cake into his mouth.


	5. Over A Beer

**5\. Over A Beer**

It was Veronica's birthday, and Margaret was drunk.

So was everyone else, in varying stages of intoxication, but the first princess had consumed more alcohol than she had ever in the past. Meliodas had closed down the Boar Hat for the night to the public-a "Private Party" sign now hanging on the front door-but it seemed as if the princesses had invited half of the capital anyway. The tavern was bursting at the seams, the ale flowing freely (and compliments of the royal family, of course), platters of food sent around again and again, even wild music playing from a band of musicians Griamore had hired from somewhere.

This sort of scene, filled with people and noise and _more_ people was still an uncomfortable one for Margaret. Even though the curse had been broken, ten years was a very long time to be still and silent and looking over your shoulder. A long time to be _watched_.

As much as she longed to jump into the fun, to throw her anxiety away like an old cloak and surround herself with friends, it was difficult still. The tavern had already been quite full when she arrived, staring wide-eyed at the crowd that cheered when they entered. Veronica had clapped her hands and immediately hurried to greet everyone, leaving her alone. Luckily Elizabeth had grabbed her arm and pulled her to the bar, depositing her on a stool while she ran to help Meliodas with something.

Margaret had sat timidly looking around until Ban slid up next to her. "Want something, princess?" he asked, his cheeks already a bit tinted and a lazy grin on his face.

She cleared her throat and said, "Well… perhaps, a water?"

Ban laughed at her then, and she was taken aback when he hopped up to sit on the bar and spin to land on the other side. "Nah, it's a party! I got just the thing!"

He laid out several small glasses, five in total, and filled them sloppily with a bottle of something Margaret didn't recognize. "What is this?" she asked.

"The perfect start to a party," he answered as he replaced the cap.

Delicately Margaret picked up one glass and gave the swirling liquid a sniff. "Why did you pour so many? There are only two of us."

Ban leaned on an elbow and laughed. "One for you, four for me. Now drink up."

She watched as he threw back two very quickly, slamming the little glasses down as he burped. "Whassa matter?" he laughed. "You scared?"

At that she had bristled; of course she was scared, she was _terrified_ of being there by herself, surrounded by people she didn't know, people who might report what she was doing or saying to _them_ , terrified of being caught doing anything but obey-

But that was the _old_ Margaret, she reminded herself. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and lifted her glass. She kept her eyes steady on the Fox Sin's, whose eyebrows had lifted a bit seeing her accept his challenge, and swallowed the liquid in one gulp.

It burned, oh how it _burned_ going down, and Margaret sputtered and closed her watery eyes waiting for the sensation to fade into her stomach. A hand clapped her on the back as another offered a napkin, which she took gratefully. Once her eyes and mouth were wiped, she looked up to see Ban laughing. "Not even King can take one straight like that!" he cried, pouring another. "Not too bad, princess!"

Despite the lingering pain and the strange buzzing in her ears, she had laughed too, daring to scoop up the refreshed shot and take it with Ban. Then there was another, which she clinked against his before drinking, and then another, then another, and soon Margaret felt like she was sitting on a cloud, her tongue much too large and her hair much too tight. The fear was gone, replaced with a tingling in her veins and excitement in her chest. The alcohol loosened her tongue quite a bit too, and despite being so very intimidated by the tall Fox Sin normally, she found herself in very easy and silly conversation.

The two were shaking with laughter when Ban slouched over the bar. "You're all right, princess," he slurred, pointing a shaking finger at her.

"I am?" she gasped.

Nodding, Ban replied, "You know howta drink."

"Yeah I do!" shouted Margaret. She slammed her hand on the wooden bar, making the patrons around her jump. "Do you got any else?" Suddenly her eyes widened. "I wanna-I wanna have some _beer_." A beer just sounded so wonderfully _dangerous_. Princesses drank wine, or a bit of brandy if offered, but never a beer.

"Oh ho ho ho, yeah we got that!" cried Ban. A moment later he had two bottles opened, and they knocked the drinks together.

Margaret took a slow sip from the bottle, the cool liquid feeling good on her raw throat. It was sweet and bubbly, with a twist of something, and she sighed as she swallowed. "This is great!" she proclaimed, looking up at Ban.

"Aaahhhh, I knew you'd like that." He tipped his own back with a long drink. When he finished swallowing, however, he frowned at her. "Whassa matter now?"

"No one-" here the princess paused to hiccup, "-no one ever gave me a beer before."

"Uhhh…" Ban scratched his chin, not sure how to answer, and gave a yelp when Margaret reached out and grabbed the arm of his jacket. "Sir Ban! I love it so much! And I-" Her voice caught as her eyes shimmered. "I love you!"

And she did in that moment, she really and truly did, Margaret thought to herself. Never had she dreamed how wonderful it would be to sit on a stool and drink with a nearly total stranger. Never had she had so much fun. Never had she felt so very _free_.

The Sin's eyes widened in shock. They stared at each other a moment before he burst out laughing. "Hey princess! Get over here!" he shouted, making Margaret jump.

She turned as Elizabeth hurried over, her cheeks flushed from the excitement of the room. "Yes, Sir Ban? Do you need-oh my!" She pulled up short as she looked at Margaret closely. "Margaret, are you okay? You look… well…" Elizabeth blushed a bit, her brows drawing down as she looked her sister closely in the face.

"I'm wonderful!" Margaret cried. She slung her arms around Elizabeth and pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm so glad you are here! Sir Ban has given me beer, and Elizabeth! Look!" She released the younger girl and leaned back to take another drink of the bottle, Elizabeth's hand grabbing hold of her arm to keep her steady. "I really like it!"

"I see that," she giggled. "Sir Ban, Gilthunder will not be pleased."

Ban waved a hand. "Like I care what that pink-haired pretty boy thinks."

"Pink-haired pretty boy!" shrieked Margaret. She pitched forward with laughter, and Elizabeth caught her just in time to keep her from falling face first off of the stool. "Pink-haired pretty boy!"

"Let's get some air," Elizabeth sighed. She pulled her sister up and carefully helped her walk through the crowd towards the door. Many of the people there called out greetings to the princesses, and even though Margaret insisted on stopping to say hello to each one, Elizabeth kept them moving.

"Why can't we stay?" she whined, but the second they were out of the hot and stuffy tavern and into the pleasant spring evening air, Margaret sighed in relief. "Oh this is _nice_."

Elizabeth pulled her away from the door, situating her on one of the benches that had been set outside for the party. "Margaret," she giggled. "You should not have drank so much."

"I only had…" Quickly she tried to add up the drinks she had taken with Ban, but found math to be very difficult with the fuzziness in her brain. Instead, she lifted her bottle, still clutched tightly in her hand, and said, "I only had one beer."

Elizabeth only shook her head. She sat next to her sister, and Margaret promptly leaned down to put her head on the girl's shoulder. "Elizabeth?" she whispered.

"Hmm?" she answered, rubbing her back a bit.

"I love you." Margaret took another drink and sighed. "And I love beer."

Another fit of giggles erupted from Elizabeth. "Okay, Margaret. I love you too."

"And I love Gilthunder," she sighed. "Even if he is a pink-haired pretty boy."

Elizabeth murmured her agreement, and Margaret closed her eyes. The world was spinning a bit, but in a rather delightful way, she decided. But the fresh air was so very lovely. Margaret wondered if she had ever felt such lovely air before.

The girls sat in companionable silence, the party going on at a loud but muffled volume behind them in the tavern. But after just a few minutes, voices drifted up the path leading from the Boar Hat to the city. "Aw man, hear that? They started already! I told you we'd be late!"

"We wouldn't be so late if you didn't spend an hour on your hair."

Margaret jolted up, nearly tipping off the bench with the momentum. Elizabeth shouted and steadied her, but Margaret called out, "Gilthunder! Gil, over here!"

A moment later Gilthunder came into view, Howzer hurrying behind. "Margaret? What are you doing out here?"

"Pink-haired pretty boy!" she shouted. Launching herself forward, she stumbled as Gilthunder caught her. Margaret laughed hysterically, her head falling back a bit to look up at him. "You're a pink-haired pretty boy."

Margaret grinned at him, leaning forward to press her hands on his shoulders, and he glanced at Elizabeth. "What is this?"

"She's drunk," Elizabeth laughed.

"No way!" Howzer exclaimed as Gilthunder looked back at the grinning princess. "Margaret?" he asked, not entirely unamused, his mouth twitching as he studied her face in the moonlight. "How much did you have?"

"One beeeeeeeer," she breathed, lifting the bottle to take another sip.

Gilthunder tried to pry the bottle from her hand, but Margaret held it behind her back with a laugh. "That's _one_?" asked Howzer incredulously.

"Actually," Elizabeth responded, "I'm not entirely sure. She was sitting with Sir Ban for an awfully long time."

"That would explain it," muttered Gilthunder. Looking up at Howzer he said, "Guess I'm not coming after all. I'll take her home."

"Your loss." He chuckled and held his arm out to Elizabeth. "Come on, Your Highness, show me what Ban gave her. I want to be _that_ drunk within the _hour_."

Margaret was not even aware as they walked away, her eyes struggling to focus on Gilthunder's face. He looked back down at her lazy grin and pressed his lips together, trying not to smile himself. "Okay, Margaret, come on. Let's get you to bed."

"Gil!" she gasped. "You're taking me to bed?"

"Not exactly," he answered, finally letting out a chuckle.

Margaret leaned up against him and brought the bottle to her lips. "Gil?" she asked.

"Hm?"

"I have sommin im _por_ tant t'say." She stopped walking and pulled out of his grip a little.

They stared at each other a moment until Gilthunder raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"I love you," Margaret blurted. His eyes widened as she drained the rest of the bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Even though you're a pink… haired… pretty boy."

"Thanks," he laughed. He gently plucked the bottle from her hand and propped up the suddenly sagging princess. "Now can we go home?"

"Mmm hmm." With one arm secure around her waist, they slowly walked back down the path, the way easily lit by the bright full moon for the princess and her pink-haired pretty boy.


	6. On A Sunny Tuesday Afternoon

**6\. On A Sunny Tuesday Afternoon, The Late Sunlight Glowing In Your Hair**

Gilthunder hated his life. He hated his position, he hated his responsibilities, he hated his powers. He hated his name and his legacy. He hated the way people looked at him. He hated _everything_ about Liones.

Life was getting harder and harder. The pressure every day, from inside of himself, from outside, from his trainers and his tutors and his friends. The king, the Grand Masters, even the servants. The silence of his room. The noise of the training fields. The sound of metal clashing on metal.

It was difficult and brutal. How could silence be so loud? How could emptiness fill him with so much anger?

At breakfast he sat with his cousin, having eggs and ham in the castle kitchen. The staff bustled around preparing for the day and taking steaming trays upstairs to the royal family. Gilthunder watched them silently as he ate, glad that no one was paying them much attention. He took most of his meals there in the kitchen since no one was at home to cook for him. Most of the times Griamore joined him, his mother also gone, his father often too busy to share a meal.

Griamore was _always_ there, going through the same trials, the same pressures as son of a Grand Master. The expectations on him were just as high, the need to improve and succeed just as prevalent. Yet he knew that Griamore would never understand. Being the son of the _current_ Great Holy Knight was a lot different than a _martyred_ Great Holy Knight. He would know, having been both.

Gilthunder would have liked to speak to the servants as they went by. Many of them had served the royal family for generations, just as his own family had; most of them he knew by name, and had fond memories of seeing the castle staff occasionally coming and going from his father's office. His mother, too, had always been gracious with the castle staff, and was close friends with many of them. There were often days when he would come home to find the kitchen or parlor filled with women's voices; when Rene would call for him, he would dutifully present himself to be clucked at and exclaimed over before being released with a kiss on the forehead and a cookie.

None of that now, of course. Zaratras' office had new owners now, who did not fraternize with the staff. The kitchen in his childhood home stood empty and dark.

So instead, he grit his teeth and frowned at those who approached. Any of them could be an enemy, looking for something to _tell_ , looking for a reason to whisper his name. Better to trust no one, even Griamore. The staff members who spotted the stoic boy who scowled into his breakfast would shake their heads and murmur to one another what a shame it was, a boy so filled with life and joy, now still devastated by his parents' deaths all those years ago.

After breakfast the boys met the other students in the training academy for potential Holy Knights. Most knights were identified a bit older, but boys and girls who showed exceptional potential before reaching sixteen-the age to become an apprentice-could apply for the training academy. The morning was spent in a tedious back-to-back lessons in Writing, Philosophy, Languages, Mathematics, History. Science had always been his favorite; Gilthunder truly loved learning the secrets of the universe, plaguing his teachers and parents with questions: why the sun rose in the east and why the rain would fall and why birds flew in a V-shape. He collected bugs and birds and butterflies, pinning them in frames and drawing diagrams in books, filling his mother's good bowls with dirt to sift through for worms and beetles.

Now, Gilthunder is serious and studious. Not even the antics of his friend Howzer, whose education in the village was what the professor had proclaimed _tenuous at best_ , would make him crack more than a tiny grin. He and Howzer and Griamore had often proved to be the most raucous in the group their first year, starting the academy at nine years of age. Gilthunder had prided himself on his high marks. He was often the first to volunteer to read or to present to the others in the class. But the tutors understood after his father was murdered that it would be foolish to expect such enthusiasm for learning from the boy.

Gilthunder sat through his lessons, ignoring Howzer's attempts to get his attention and the whispered gossip among the others when the professor's back was turned. During his break, he sat silently with his two friends, listening to their banter but rarely joining in himself. They were asked to play a round of keep-away, which Howzer eagerly agreed to, but the sons of the Great Holy Knights declined.

As they watched the group, Gilthunder muttered, "You could have joined, you know. I don't need any company."

"I know that," Griamore scoffed. "But I'm not going to be seen running around like a kid less than a year from apprenticeship. What if my father saw?"

At that they lapsed into silence, and Gilthunder fumed a bit under his breath. If his father was alive, he wouldn't have given two shits about who saw and what they thought.

After lunch, the students went to the training fields to practice their fighting and magic. Next year they would become full apprentices, able to bypass the application process if they completed this year in the academy. They completed rounds of physical conditioning, and then the professor split them into pairs. Gilthunder was paired with Howzer, which was both a blessing and a curse. Where Howzer lacked in applying himself to his academics, he more than made up for in enthusiasm on the training field.

Their goal was to land a hit on their partner's left hand, and the more precise the more points they received. It was easy for Gilthunder, since his _Thunderbolt_ ability was innately a precision move, especially with the swords they were now allowed to use. What he did not expect was for Howzer to be so good at it. The bursts of wind his friend would send his way felt like a punch each time, and before long both boys were eyeing each other and laughing, sweat dripping from their brows and their cheeks ruddy.

He began to get caught up in the thrill of the game. Gilthunder was unused to his heart pumping in the happy sort of excitement, and he met Howzer's moves play for play, laughing wildly when his friend would shriek from an electric shock. Once Howzer got so annoyed at him that Gilthunder found himself toppled on the ground, and as he stared up at the sun catching his breath, he smiled.

"Everyone up!"

The call of the professor snapped him out of his elation. He scrambled into line with the others, hands clasped behind his back, feet planted, chin up, eyes forward, the way they had been drilled for years. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Grand Masters approaching, and his stomach churned.

Behind him Howzer muttered something to Griamore, causing his cousin to give a strangled sort of cough. But Gilthunder gave no sign that he had heard, the familiar coolness of his captivity settling over him like a blanket. There was no escape, so he pressed the panic that began to well down, down, until he was all soldier and not _him_ anymore.

That is, until he realized he had a weapon. His sword still hung from his hip. His mouth opened slightly as he took in shallow, shaking breaths. He had never stood in front of the Grand Masters with a weapon before. He had never been presented with a possibility before.

The Holy Knights had stopped to speak to the professor, but it barely registered. Gilthunder could see in his mind's eye exactly what to do next. He would draw his sword and send it through Hendrickson, who was nodding with arms folded and a small smile on his lips. He would send his electricity through the blade, every ounce he had in his body. Hendrickson would drop to the ground, and he would stand over him, checking that the light was out in his eyes. It would take only moments.

Gilthunder's eyes darted for a moment to see that Dreyfus had stopped as well, looking down with a sharp glaze at Howzer. Killing him would be more difficult. Would Howzer ever forgive him for killing the man who mentored him since they were only boys? Would _Griamore_? Could he do this to his own cousin, knowing the emptiness of being alone, knowing how the silence felt, knowing how much hate would fill his friends.

 _Yes_. Yes, he would do this. Because life was too difficult now. The reality of this time of his life ending soon, of becoming an apprentice and eventually a Holy Knight in service to these two was becoming a reality that he could not think about anymore. His arms were shaking as he thought of what this act could mean. He would be trading one sin for another, one life of captivity for another kind. He would be imprisoned, even killed. But what did it matter? Death was better than this life of… _nothing_.

He lifted his head, the first time since his father was killed, breaking the formation of the students and looking at where the two Grand Masters were now standing together before the group. Hendrickson was speaking again, and Gilthunder reached for his sword.

But then, the king appeared, accompanied by his two oldest daughters. Gilthunder's eyes went wide to see them enter the courtyard. The professor called for a salute, and all bowed-except for him. He had spotted something he had forgotten about, felt a pang in his chest he had not felt in a long time.

 _Margaret._

He had not seen Margaret in weeks, since the term had started again; as if he had called her name aloud, she turned her face towards him, and their eyes connected.

On that sunny Tuesday afternoon, the sunlight glowing in her hair, Gilthunder stepped back into line. He planted his feet and put his hands behind his back, clasped as he had been taught, and gave the answers to the Grand Masters with the others. He could practically feel Margaret's eyes on him and the disapproving frown of his professor for failing to bow to the king. However, his breathing was slowed, his shaking soothed, as he remembered. His life was not empty. His life was not nothing.


	7. As A Thank You

**7\. As A Thank You**

Margaret's eyes traveled up the crumbling side of the castle. It could barely even be _called_ a castle, honestly: it was really just a tower surrounded by ruins. The door seemed ancient, but barred, and no life could be seen peeking from behind the windows that dot among the stone.

"This is it?" she said, turning to look at Hendrickson.

The former Grand Master nodded. "Vivian has used this before, for her experiments in magic. I've only been here once myself."

"She has nowhere else to go," Dreyfus interjected from the other side. "This must be the place."

Margaret drew in a deep breath, once more looking over the moss-covered tower and the dilapidated stone. The rage and agony she had been feeling since Gilthunder left—since he was _taken_ —felt sour all of a sudden. The resentment towards Vivian, not just for this sin but for _all_ of the others, was beginning to cool into something Margaret was not prepared to feel. Instead of the white hot ire that had kept her focused and away from despair, she felt… pity.

"Open it," she commanded.

The two knights moved together, neither even pausing to question. Margaret had found in the weeks since her release that she was particularly adept at giving orders. There was a tone in her voice that was not unlike her father's, and after some initial shock by the guards and the servants, she realized that they _wanted_ to hear her authority. Margaret was becoming the monarch she had to keep locked away. With the door open, it was filling her, replacing the fear and loneliness with calm.

So it pleased her when the two men immediately set to pulling the door from its hinges. The squealing of the rusted metal echoed against the hard rock, and beyond it lay only darkness. For a moment, the old worry nicked her chest, making her smile. It was an old friend, that fear.

"Your Highness," said Dreyfus, "allow us to go in first."

"No," she answered. Margaret slid easily from her horse. "I am here for _my_ revenge."

Later she would wonder what they thought, the sweet princess with eyes of steel and mouth set, wearing armor for the first time, her hand hovering over the hilt of her sword as she entered the unknown. The long lavender hair that had been her pride was pulled back into a braid, tied away from her features, and Margaret resisted twirling a lock around her fingers for comfort. There was nothing to fear, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

The pale light of the windows provided the only illumination, turning the inside of the tower into a dull gray. The two knights fell into step right behind her, but followed their princess as she walked into the room at the bottom.

To her surprise, it was empty. Only a bit of straw lay on the floor, but there was no furniture, no trinkets, nothing what she expected to see at the home of one of the most powerful mages in Britannia. Dreyfus and Hendrickson spread out to either side, sweeping the room, their weapons ready; but a moment later, it was clear there was nothing to see.

In front of them was a staircase that wound in a corkscrew up through the tower. Without waiting for either man to suggest it, she stepped forward to look up. Margaret half-expected to see Vivian's wild eyes at the top of the stairs, but it was as empty as the rest. Is it possible this was _not_ the place?

"I know this is where she is," Hendrickson said quietly, as if he had read her thoughts. "They must be at the top."

"Then up we go too," Margaret answered.

Together they climbed the stairs. Margaret allowed Dreyfus to take the lead, all three with their eyes and ears sharp and ready for any sign of life. At the first landing, there was a room that looked like it could have been a kitchen, once. A cold, dead hearth covered in soot sat crumbling in a corner, a broken table snapped in half in the middle of the floor, and cabinets opened and empty along the walls. But no sign anyone had cooked or eaten or even breathed the air, so they continued.

Two more landings, two more rooms filled with cobwebs and broken furniture. They were nearing the top, and Margaret was becoming more and more afraid that they would not find Gilthunder there. Surely by now there would be a sign? But the only sounds came from their own feet and their own breathing.

But then, suddenly, a scream erupted in the air, causing Margaret to jump. Her heart beat wildly as she recognized it as a _woman's_ scream. "Vivian!" hissed the princess.

"There is one more floor," Hendrickson said, nodding towards the staircase. "Princess, allow us to go up and investigate ourselves."

Margaret only laughed. "I did not come all this way to stop at the last floor," she replied, and drew her sword. "I will save Gilthunder!"

She quickly strode forward, hurrying up the steps as Dreyfus and Hendrickson followed closely on her heels. There was another door at the top, and with a cry she pushed against it. She stumbled inside as it gave way to her small frame, and only a firm hand from Dreyfus on her arm to steady her kept her from falling to the floor.

As she righted herself, she looked around wildly; only to find that this room, like all the others, was empty. "How can this be?" Dreyfus wondered behind her.

Margaret's lungs squeezed as she struggled to take in a breath. "They have to be here!" she shouted, the sound still so strange to her after all those years of silence, her voice shaking just a bit with emotion. "They have to! Gilthunder! Gilthunder, can you hear me?" She walked to the center of the room, turning and looking in every direction. "Gil! I'm here! Say something, please, so we can find you!"

But instead of Gilthunder's voice, another scream came again. It was so loud she could have sworn the woman was right in this room, had it not been empty. "That is Vivian, it _has_ to be!" she cried.

"Step back, princess," came Hendrickson's voice over her shoulder. She turned to argue, but Dreyfus was there to guide her away towards the side of the room. With the Holy Knight's grip firm on her shoulder, she could only wait and watch.

Hendrickson stood in the middle of the room, his head slightly tilted, as if listening. His eyes were on the floor, until slowly, slowly, they lifted, focusing on a spot to his left. Margaret looked back and forth wildly, wondering what he was focused on; then without notice he raised his sword and called out, " _Purify_."

A squealing noise as if from a nightmare echoed in the room, and Margaret covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. It was the same sound that the demon that followed her for ten years had made as Meliodas' magic sliced it in half. The memory ripped at her in agony, as she whimpered, her entire body trembling as the echoes faded. It was too much, all at once, the fear and the disappointment and the exhaustion that came from being in charge.

"Margaret!"

Then, incredibly, she opened her eyes. The room was no longer empty: they stood among strange furnishings, tables, shelves filled with books and vials, papers and containers heaped on the floor. Lamps were lit around the room, maps and tapestries lining the walls; but none of that mattered, and she saw none of it. Because Gilthunder was there, running towards her, and with a cry she was swept into his arms.

He whispered her name over and over, the powerful and familiar feeling of him like a wall to steady herself against. His hands pressed against her back, and she felt his face press into her neck, his nose slightly cold and his cheeks wet. "Margaret, you're here," he murmured, and as she rose out of her shock, she realized she had not hugged him back.

Slightly shaking she wrapped her arms around him, her fingers gently sweeping through the pink hair that dusted his shoulders. This was _not_ the way she had expected to react to their reunion, but a moment later she choked out his name, their embrace becoming fierce as he tightened his hold on her. "I found you," she said, immediately feeling very foolish for saying something so obvious.

But if Gilthunder found her foolish, he gave no sign. His grip on her loosened so he could cup her face, and Margaret gazed dazedly up at his adoring expression. "You did," he whispered back. "Thank you. Thank you."

She nodded, her lungs tight; then he kissed her, their mouths molding together as if made for one another, a quiet groan escaping him as he slanted against hers. Margaret grew a bit weak at the way his fingers slid into her hair and his powerful hands cradled her head so gently, tilting her face to kiss her deeply. All she could think to do was to grip onto his shirt in an attempt to keep herself upright.

"Gil," she finally breathed as their lips parted.

"I couldn't get out," he murmured against her skin. "The enchantment was so strong—there were no doors, no windows. I couldn't find you, but—" At that he leaned back slightly, looking her over. "A sword, Margaret? Armor? Did you come to fight for me?"

Margaret gave a shaking laugh, and he pressed a kiss on her temple. "I love you," he said.

Margaret opened her mouth to return the epithet, but another scream interrupted them. She jumped again, startled, and Gilthunder yanked her against him as they turned towards the source.

The two Grand Masters stood on either side of a table, upon which a writhing _thing_ was screeching and clawing at the wood. "Stay back, Margaret," murmured Gilthunder, but the princess would not be swayed. She pulled from his grip and stepped forward, looking between the Holy Knights and the wailing creature.

"Vivian?" she breathed as she stood next to it. Somewhere in the mess of bloody scales two bright brown eyes snapped to hers, and another cry came between the darkness underneath. "What is this?"

"She has been cursed," Gilthunder explained, his hand pressing on her arm. "Merlin warned her, but she continued to use her magic. This was a way to protect us from her."

Margaret nodded, but her face was solemn. She had thought many times of the day she would bring justice to the girl that had set their curse on them. Margaret had sworn to herself she would see Vivian receive justice one day for her deeds. She had imagined her father sentencing her to prison, or seeing Vivian run through on the edge of Gil's sword; lately, she would picture her own sword to be the one to carve into her. Her fantasies of finding Gilthunder were always accompanied with just _how_ she would pay the mage back for cursing them, for stealing their childhood and their lives, for stealing the man she loved and had given everything to keep her alive.

But now, in this moment, the thirst for revenge was gone.

"We should kill her," Gilthunder said. "Give me a sword and I'll do it."

"No," snapped Dreyfus. "It is not up to you to decide on her justice. She must face the king for her crimes."

"She could be redeemed," Hendrickson added, but Gilthunder argued back, "Redeemed? She's going to die anyway. Just look at her. This is beyond even _your_ magic, Hendrickson."

"I feel nothing but pity," she said aloud.

"Pity? For this creature?" Dreyfus sounded incredulous.

"She is a woman in love. That is a powerful magic." All three men looked at her, but Margaret's eyes remained on Vivian's. She leaned forward and said quietly, "I'm sorry this happened to you. Love cursed us both, didn't it?"

There was movement among the darkness, which Margaret took as a nod in agreement. "Do you want to die?" she asked.

The movement came again, this time, a no. "Then we will leave you here," replied Margaret, standing back up.

"No, Margaret," Gilthunder murmured. "Vivian must answer her crimes!"

"Look at her, Gil," she answered sadly. "Is she not suffering enough?"

"Let's get out of here then," muttered Hendrickson. "No telling what other magic may linger around this place."

The others moved to leave, but before she did, Margaret turned back to what was left of the mage. The brown eyes were now lifted to the ceiling, the skin and scales shaking in what Margaret imagined was weeping. "Goodbye, Vivian," she said gently. "I hope you find peace. For nothing else, you were loyal, and you acted out of love, no matter how bad your crimes. For that, I will remember you."

The eyes closed, and Margaret took her leave. She turned towards Gilthunder, who stood waiting at the door. Their eyes locked, and Margaret watched as his softened just a bit. "Thank you," she said as she walked to his side, and leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, I know. Yes, this was started earlier this week. I wanted to keep going with my own.


	8. As An Apology

**8\. As An Apology**

"Gil, could you show me how to fight?"

He had nearly choked on his lunch when she asked that, quickly gulping down water when his eyes flew up to meet Margaret's brown ones. She had a look of concern, but once he stopped coughing, her expression returned to the sweet smile. "Well?"

"Why do you want to fight?" he asked, shaking his head. "You are well protected, you have nothing to fear."

"I thought it would be good to know a _few_ things," she replied. Her gaze slid to the side as her fingers twirled a lock of hair. Immediately Gilthunder knew he was going to lose this argument. "I could ask someone else, if would rather not-"

"No! I'll do it."

Margaret beamed at him, and switched the topic to an upcoming dinner to host Arthur as they finished their luncheon. But Gilthunder only half-listened, his mind turning over this idea of teaching Margaret how to fight. How was he going to do this?

A half hour later, the pair was walking towards the training center for the Holy Knights, and Gilthunder still did not know. Margaret had gone to change from her dress into something he'd expect to see Veronica or even Elizabeth in: tight riding pants, and old tunic, a pair of sturdy boots, her hair tied back in a simple braid. Perfect for a fighting lesson. He had hoped somehow it had been just a passing question, and that Margaret wasn't being _serious_ when she had asked to learn to fight. But the bright smile and excited eyes told him that she was _very_ serious. It made him uncomfortable; almost as uncomfortable as seeing Margaret in such un-princess-like clothing.

He was relieved when they ran into Howzer, thinking his friend would help dissuade the princess; to his annoyance, Howzer did the opposite. "Great idea, Your Highness!" he exclaimed with a huge smile. "Can't be too careful these days. Let's get you fitted for a sword."

"A sword!" she squealed in excitement, but Gilthunder objected. "No swords yet. Let her practice first."

Margaret pouted a bit, but followed him dutifully. "What kind of fighting are you interested in learning?" Howzer asked. "There's swordmanship, close combat, hand-to-hand…"

"Definitely swords," she interjected.

Howzer nodded with a laugh as Gilthunder frowned. "Good choice. There is shortsword, longsword, rapier, sabre, dagger… there is also archery, wrestling…"

"None of that!" Gil finally snapped. "Margaret doesn't need a weapon. We're just showing her some things."

He strode ahead, his ears burning a bit from his outburst. He didn't know _why_ it bothered him so much; if anything, Howzer was kind of right. The more he thought about it, the more he figured the princess should have some basic skills, in case her life was ever in danger. But the very thought of _that_ made his skin crawl. How could he ever allow her to fight on her own? How could he let a time come when he was not there to protect her?

They reached a practice field where other beginning knights were going through moves, and Gilthunder stopped. Howzer and Margaret arrived moments later, having taken their time to discuss weapons. He watched impatiently as they approached, absorbed in a discussion on how to load a crossbow. "The most important thing," Howzer was saying, "is to keep your feet planted so-"

"Are you done?" hissed Gilthunder. "I doubt the princess will be using a _crossbow_ any time soon."

Howzer folded his arms. "You never know," he smirked, making Margaret giggle.

A sour sort of flare went through his stomach, and Gil grit his teeth. He _refused_ to feel _jealous_ of _Howzer_ of all people. "Margaret," he said, trying to smooth away the churning distaste of this entire endeavor, "why don't we go observe some of the recruits first? You can look and decide if this is something you really want to do."

"I _do_ want to do this, Gil," she replied. Her face was stony and determined, and Gilthunder swallowed nervously. "I want to be able to fight, if I had to."

Pressing his lips together, he decided to take another approach. "What about your father? What would he say about you doing this?"

"The king let Veronica go with the Holy Knights," pointed out Howzer. "He probably wouldn't object _that_ much."

"You're not helping," said Gil through clenched teeth.

"Helping?" Margaret's soft voice cut through the fuming glares of the two knights. Yet despite her quiet nature, the hurt in her eyes was obvious, along with a determination that was hardening the spark of excitement from before. "I thought you were going to help _me_."

She was frowning, hurt evident on his face, and he took a deep breath. His neck flaring with heat, Gil stammered out, "I-I am, I just-Margaret, you-"

"Why don't I show her some self-defense?" Howzer volunteered. Gil narrowed his eyes at him, but his friend smiled in his infuriatingly unflappable way. "Nothing crazy, just some basic moves."

"That sounds like a great idea," Margaret said pointedly. She turned away, effectively dismissing him, and asked, "Where should we start, Howzer?"

His friend had the civility to at least _look_ a bit embarrassed to be caught between them. Gil thought for a moment of _ordering_ Howzer not to do anything; even though their positions were even, _technically_ Gilthunder was a rank above him. However, if he was going to play _that_ petty game, Margaret could still pull rank as princess and first in line for the throne.

So Gilthunder stepped away before losing his temper, hearing Howzer say behind him, "Sure, Your Highness, let me show you how to make a proper fist." _Fine_ , he thought, _let her learn a few things_. Still fuming, he sat on a bench a little ways away, trying not to watch as Howzer demonstrated a punch, lifting her elbow and adjusting her wrist when Margaret tried it herself.

Jealousy flared again, sending an uncomfortable slinking feeling along his spine. Margaret was _his_ love, _his_ to protect. Her request was a simple one, and he knew that his reaction wasn't fair; but the thought of him failing her, of the princess having to defend _herself_ , brought out the old insecurities of being unable to protect her for ten years. His gaze drifted over the pairs and small groups of recruits and young ones in the training program doing their own practice. He had been there once, learning, getting stronger, so he could protect Margaret with his life.

Margaret's lessons continued over the next several days. Howzer would come to collect the princess in the afternoon, and the three would walk down to the training field together. He would sit on the bench as he watched the two of them work, his own feelings mixed up over this entire situation. After working together for a couple of hours, he would walk her back to the castle, neither of them speaking.

The silence was unnerving, and the idea that she would need to fight or put herself at risk began to sit heavily on him. After delivering her for another lesson days later, Gil took his normal spot and sat with his chin in his hands. He was scowling, so lost in his own thoughts, that he did not notice when Guila and Veronica arrived. "What is she doing?!" Veronica laughed, plopping down on the bench next to Gil.

Startled, he followed their stares to see Margaret practicing a block with Howzer. How long had he been daydreaming? Next to him, Veronica snorted. "You've been sitting here sulking for an hour. How come Howzer is helping her and not you?"

Gilthunder bristled a bit. "He offered to help."

One of the princess' brows shot up. "Oh, and you wouldn't?"

He started to protest, but Guila cut in, "Of course he would not want to." Both turned to the Holy Knight, who stood leaning on her own sword, her expression passive as she watched the pair working several yards away. "It is the duty of a Holy Knight to protect something precious. If the one you must protect can do it themselves, then what meaning do we have?"

Hearing it said out loud made his face flush, but Veronica just laughed. "So you'd have princesses just sit in towers all day, like in stories?"

Guila smiled and glanced over. "Not every princess would fit that bill."

"She's right, though," he said gravely, and both women looked at him. "We are knights, and it is our duty to protect the kingdom." He could still feel his face burning, the idea of Margaret being locked in a tower a little _too_ close to home, and the truth. "Our existence is for that, and that alone."

Next to him, Veronica let out a shrill laugh. "Gil, you are an idiot!" she cried. He frowned at her, but the princess paid him no mind as she shook her head. "You think there's one way to be a knight, and one way to protect people? That there is only one kind of strength? You should know better than _anyone_ that just because you can throw around a sword, that doesn't make you a _knight_."

He was taken back, surprised, and Veronica raised her chin, gesturing towards Margaret over his shoulder. "Look at her. She's learning something new, and she's _good_ at it. That doesn't mean she doesn't need you. And it doesn't go one way either. Just because _you're_ strong, doesn't mean _she's_ weak. Margaret shouldered that curse and survived it, just like you. She just did it her _own_ way."

Gilthunder's mouth popped open as Veronica nodded. "Besides, my sister nearly gave her life for you, you know. She tried to sacrifice herself to end the curse, so that _you_ wouldn't die. So who exactly is the protector and who is the princess, hm?"

He was utterly speechless, and in the silent pause that punctuated her question, Guila chuckled. "What?" Veronica scoffed, waving her off.

"That was surprisingly astute," Guila replied.

Beaming, the princess said, "Yeah, I have my moments."

"You're right," he whispered, feeling like a fool. Margaret didn't need his protecting; they needed each other. She was strong, she was brave, and she had saved his life. And not only that, she was the First Princess of Liones. She could make her own decisions about what was best. _He_ answered to _her_.

Gilthunder stood and strode over to where Margaret and Howzer were taking a break and chatting. They both looked him with a bit of surprise when he approached, and Margaret folded her arms when she turned to him. Her skin was flushed with exertion, a thin strip of perspiration on her brow, and her hair was a bit wild from the work, and he was struck by how beautiful she looked. "Yes?" she asked, her voice tight.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out. Her eyes widened, and immediately Gil gave a deep bow, his hand pressed to his heart. "Please forgive my rudeness, Your Highness. I am yours to command, and I… I was wrong." There was no answer, so he peeked up through pink bangs. "I was wrong to doubt you, Margaret."

Her surprised softened instantly, and a gentle hand pressed on his shoulder. "Stand up," she said, and he straightened. "Any knight who acts in his lady's best interest needs no forgiveness."

Breathing a sigh of relief, he grinned. "Does that mean I can help you now?"

"Actually…" Margaret turned and looked at Howzer, who was giving them both a sly smile. "Howzer has been a wonderful teacher. I think I'll stick with him."

"Really?" both men answered at the same time, and Howzer clapped his hands. "Excellent, Your Highness! I'd be honored!"

Gilthunder huffed a bit, ready to argue, when Veronica ran over. "Margaret! You're looking good. Can you show us some moves?"

The princess giggled. "I'm not good enough to show off yet."

"Not true," Howzer insisted. "You're picking it up fast. In fact…" He grinned at Gilthunder, making him look back suspiciously. "You want to help? Let Margaret practice on you."

"What?" he snapped, but Margaret exclaimed that was an excellent idea. Veronica and Howzer gave a shout as they moved to the side, cheering for them to go for it. Gilthunder stepped up to Margaret and hissed, "Are you sure it's a good idea?"

She only smiled in response, giving him a flirtatious wink, and a little thrill went through him. Here was another new side of the woman he loved, and Gil couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped his chest. "All right then," he warned. "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she cooed back, stepping a few paces away.

"Come on, Margaret!" Veronica called. Gil looked over and was surprised to see a small crowd gathering as the other knights practicing came over to see the commotion. "First one to land a hit wins!"

"I'm not gonna hit her," he called over, and to his surprise Howzer called back, "Then you better be ready for her!"

"What-" Gilthunder turned his attention back to Margaret, who now stood in a fighting stance, feet planted and arms raised, eyes narrowed. "Margaret, let's just-"

She advanced, faster than he expected, and he was just barely in time to bring an arm up to block a swing. "Margaret!" he cried, but then a kick landed on his thigh. It didn't hurt, but was placed well, just above his knee, and it made him stumble and lose his balance.

Another well-placed kick and he was on his knees, and then suddenly he saw stars as a hand chopped his neck. Gilthunder choked in surprise, going over, rolling onto his back. He could hear laughter and cheering from the spectators, which only added to his confusion.

Then Margaret was hovering above him, her face a mixture of concern and delight. "Gil! I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

"Ow," he said.

A strong hand pulled his arm to sit up, and Howzer was clapping him on the back. "That was great, Your Highness!" he exclaimed. "You took him out in seconds!"

Now upright, Gilthunder blinked at Margaret, whose hands were pressed to her cheeks. "I… I guess so? Gil, are you all right?"

He rubbed his sore neck and nodded. "Yeah."

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all," she worried, reaching out to press a palm on his shoulder.

But Gilthunder only laughed. "That was amazing," he said, and when Margaret smiled, it was with a new kind of confidence he had never seen before.


	9. When Baking Chocolate Chip Cookies

**9\. When Baking Chocolate Chip Cookies**

"Wow, Gil," Margaret said. Her eyes went wide as she took in the object placed in front of her. "It looks really… big. And hot."

Gilthunder nodded. He broke into a grin as he asked in a teasing tone, "Do you want it?"

"It looks amazing," she breathed. "But I'm not sure I can fit it all in one bite."

"Open up and I'll slide it right in."

At that, Margaret laughed. "Why does everything you say sound so dirty?"

Shrugging, he gave her a wink. "Been hanging around Howzer a lot I guess." She giggled again, and Gil blushed a bit and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck

Together they looked down at the metal sheet sitting on the stove. On top was a giant cookie, the size of the entire tray. "I know I said I wanted something sweet," Margaret said, "but I don't even know where to begin with this!"

"What's Christmas without cookies?" Gil teased. He wiped his hands on the checkered apron he wore, bringing a snort from the girl. "Let's just break off a piece and try it."

Together, they each tore off a chunk of the giant cookie. Margaret held it up, examining it closely. There was still a bit of steam coming from the treat, and chocolate chips inside still gooey from the oven. "Ohhhh, this looks good," she said, licking her lips.

With a smile she popped it into her mouth, just as Gil did the same. It took only a moment before he had turned to the sink to spit his out, as Margaret made a sound of disgust and plucked the cookie from her tongue. "This is awful!" she cried.

"Ugh, I can't believe it," Gil moaned as he turned on the faucet to rinse out his mouth.

"What in the world did you put _in_ that?" Margaret demanded as she tossed her piece into the trashcan. She gave a bit of a shudder, swallowing thickly.

"I followed the recipe," he insisted, but Margaret narrowed her eyes.

" _What_ recipe?"

The sheepish look on Gil's face was all she needed to know. "I thought he knew what he was talking about!" he groaned. "He sounded so sure!"

Margaret sighed. "You should have learned by now to _never_ use a recipe from Meliodas!" Grumbling, she rubbed her stomach. "I mean, how can something taste bitter _and_ salty at the same time?"

"I'll try it again," Gil assured her, but Margaret held up a hand. "No," she insisted, "I will do the cookies. I'd like to have them sometime _before_ I give birth."

It was Gilthunder's turn to chuckle, even as he folded his arms. "No, you're not supposed to be on your feet, you know that. Go sit."

"Fine," she sighed loudly, even though she was grateful for the reprieve. Standing for more than ten minutes became too much anymore. "But I'm supervising. Now get two large bowls."

He eyed her over his shoulder but obeyed. She directed him to put two and a quarter cups flour, a teaspoon baking soda, and salt in one bowl. "How much salt?" he asked.

"A teaspoon," she replied.

Gil looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure? That sounds like it won't be enough."

Margaret folded her arms. "This is my mother's recipe, which came from her mother, which came from her mother. Now I'm sure Meliodas' called for a cup, but we're gonna try something else this time. I'm telling you, just one teaspoon."

He couldn't argue the point, so he followed her directions carefully; then he dropped two sticks of butter, three-quarters cup of granulated and brown sugar each, and a last teaspoon of vanilla in the other bowl. "Butter! Vanilla!" Gil exclaimed. "That's what I was missing last time."

She watched as he began to mix the ingredients together. "No butter? What on earth did he have you use then?"

"I… would rather not say," he answered, returning to the mixing.

Margaret sighed, rubbing her stomach again. Gil caught sight over his shoulder and asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah, they're just fighting in there." Poking her stomach, she scolded, "Stop it, you two! Or no cookies for you!"

"Now what?" asked Gil.

"Two eggs, but add them one at a time." He nodded, carefully mixing the rest of the ingredients before adding the dry a cup at a time. Margaret had to smile to herself; when they first moved in together two years ago, he had very little skill in the kitchen. Not that she had had much more, but she at least knew how to boil pasta and load a dishwasher. Gil seemed hopeless, but now only had to be reminded to stay away from her brother-in-law's suggestions.

When he grabbed a bag of chocolate chips, Margaret did her best to quickly climb to her feet. "This is my favorite part," she said, holding out her hands palms up.

Gil crooked an eyebrow at her. "Really?" he deadpanned, but when her own eyebrows raised he relented and poured a bit into her cupped hands.

Margaret smiled, munching on the chips as he tilted the bag to let the rest fall into the batter. As he mixed it all together a final time, Margaret stuck a finger out to pick up a bit of the dough, humming in satisfaction at the perfect taste.

"You'll get worms if you do that," Gil warned, pulling out two new cookie trays.

"That's just an old wives' tale," she replied.

Margaret tried to help him scoop the cookies out and onto the trays, but her stomach protruded so much it was difficult to maneuver and reach. "Go sit down," he admonished, giving her bottom a swat with a spoon, and she went back to her chair at the kitchen table. "Not too big this time," she warned as she sat carefully.

"I thought you liked things big," he laughed as they trays went into the oven.

"Noooo, don't make me laugh," she groaned. "Don't forget to set the timer."

With all that done, Gil put away the ingredients as she watched. Outside, just a bit of rain was falling on the windows, too warm still for proper Christmas snow. The next day would be Christmas Eve, which meant a loud and boisterous dinner at her father's house; but for today, it was just them in their cozy home.

Boxes still sat in different corners, waiting to be unpacked; but the doctor had ordered Margaret on modified rest for the last bit of her pregnancy. She had told them they needed three more weeks, preferably four, before she went into labor. It was an order Gil took very seriously, but Margaret was much less worried. She _felt fine_ , she kept telling him when he insisted she stayed on the couch. He took over the unpacking, cooking, cleaning, everything in the house they had just moved into earlier in the month, fretting over her every minute, and leaving her sisters to do the same when he headed to work. So even baking Christmas cookies to bring to dinner and satisfy a pregnant sweet tooth meant Gil taking charge.

"Now," he said, wiping his hands again on the apron, "what should we do as we wait?"

Margaret shrugged as she stretched out her ankles. "We could eat the rest of the cookie dough."

He gave a snort, which in turn made her laugh; immediately she winced as a tiny fist or foot or elbow dug into her ribs. Gil knelt down on the floor, leaning on her thighs, and sternly said, "Stop that, both of you."

She smiled and ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it a bit. Gilthunder leaned forward, his eyes on her stomach, and they both watched as it rolled around, the twins inside moving as they always did. "Have you thought more about names?" she asked.

"What about Cookie?" he joked, and she gave his hair a playful tug. "I thought we had settled on Anna?"

"I know, but…" Margaret sighed, and he looked up at her. "We're going to name her after my mother, but not yours? It doesn't seem right."

"Then Anna Rene. But I like Anna." Her stomach jumped again, and Gil tickled the spot with his finger. "She's easy. It's _his_ name we need to decide on."

Margaret huffed. "Well, Zaratras is out. Your father was a wonderful man, but our son will sound like a circus performer."

He barked out a laugh, which made her smile. "You should forgive my grandparents. That's what happens when you are religious scholars."

"Right." Gil continued gazing at her stomach as she brushed her fingers through his bangs. "Maybe we'll know it when we see him."

The next few minutes passed in a peaceful silence as she watched Gilthunder, who watched her stomach in turn. Margaret could not help but smile at his simple fascination with her pregnancy. Being the oldest, Margaret remembered her mother carrying her sister Veronica, and she especially remembered Elizabeth's arrival, being several years older. But Gil was an only child, who lost his parents young, and had little experience with such things.

"There is something I have been thinking about," he murmured.

"Oh?" The warmth of the oven and the tapping of the rain on the windows was blanketing the house in the type of coziness Margaret knew was not going to last long; not longer than three weeks, anyway. She stifled a yawn, thinking after the cookies came out (and she taste-tested, of course), she would head into the other room for a nap. "What have you been thinking?"

"That we should get married."

Immediately her hand stilled, the drowsiness gone. She looked down at him sharply, as he looked back up at her; when she gave no answer, he raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Well? I mean, people do get married. It's still a thing."

"I thought… it was just a piece of paper." Margaret blinked in confusion. They had had this discussion many times, having been dating since high school; when they finally moved in together, they had decided that getting married would complicate things in a way they did not want. Plus, Margaret was not the type to want a big fluffy dress and a fuss, and they were busy with their careers, and now that she was expecting they had to buy a house and move out of their little apartment, and there just never seemed to be enough time or money or vacation days saved up…

"I don't know… just seeing you like this, and knowing these two are coming, it seems to make sense now." Gil shrugged. "We don't have to decide today. We don't need to even do—"

"Yes," she said breathlessly, her face flushing with heat. "Yes, I want to get married. Let's get married."

"Really?" He sat back in surprise. "We both agreed it wasn't for us. Don't you want to take a few days or weeks even and—"

"No!" Margaret slid up on the chair so she could lean forward, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Gil, this is… I want this."

A moment passed, and then he broke into a grin. "Good. Because I bought rings for your Christmas gift." He knelt up and cupped her face, tilting it towards him. "I love you."

His mouth pressed on hers, and Margaret sighed in happiness. "I love you too," she whispered back.

"Should we try to do this before the babies come?" he asked, his lips still brushing hers.

"Tomorrow," she answered, running her thumb over his bottom lip. "My father's a judge, he can do it before dinner. Or after, if I'm too hungry."

Gilthunder laughed at that, shaking his head; but Margaret pulled him back into another kiss. Her stomach rolled as if the babies were staging a protest, but she did not care. It was only when the timer when off, and Margaret cheered "Cookies!" in delight, that they finally broke apart.

* * *

 **A/N:** Decided to switch things up with a little modern AU. Yes, that's the Tollhouse recipe, yes, it's what I use, and yes, it's delicious.

I also want to give a shout-out to my friend haiiro-no-ookami on Tumblr. She has done some beautiful artwork featuring Margaret lately, so make sure you go and check out her work! Thanks again for the Howzer, Luna!

And Merry Christmas, everyone! Thank you for reading!


	10. Not Said To Me

**10\. Not Said To Me**

Gilthunder stood silently looking at the casket. He knew he should be feeling _something_ ––after all, he had cried miserably at his father's funeral––but now, he felt nothing.

"Young lord." A servant's voice snapped him out of his daze, and he looked up. "It's nearly time."

"Not yet," he answered coldly.

The woman, a bit older than his mother, sighed and folded her hands against her apron. "The people are waiting to pay their respects. The king himself is here."

"The king?" Gilthunder knew what that meant, what an honor it was to have him come personally, even at the age of twelve.

Nodding, the woman continued, "Even in the midst of his own mourning, he has come with the princesses to see your dear mother. What a good man."

Gilthunder pressed his lips together, his eyes moving back to the casket. Baltra was one of the last people he wanted to see, but it could not be helped.

"I'll send him in at least. Can't keep the Majesties waiting."

Before he could give a protest, she swept from the room. But what difference did it make? Eventually he had to leave this room, eventually they needed to take the casket and put it into the ground.

The door opened again. Stiffly, Gilthunder raised his head, pulling his shoulders back to step out around the casket. "Your Majesty," he said, a bit hoarse, and gave an even stiffer bow. The manners and the words and the ritual of it all had been ingrained in him since birth. Not that that did him one bit of good now.

The king was dressed in dark clothing, as were the three girls who followed him inside. But Gilthunder ignored them, annoyed by so much ceremony, and kept his eyes fixed on the crest of Liones that hung from the king's neck. "My dear boy," he said somberly, and to Gilthunder's surprise, Baltra moved to sweep him up into a big hug. "I'm so very sorry for your loss."

The boy was frozen as the king patted his back. He felt a burning rising up his neck and to his cheeks, and for one horrifying moment, he was tempted to throw his arms around the king and let loose a sob. But that wouldn't do, not _now_ , so Gilthunder simply endured the hug until the king released him.

"I'm sorry for yours as well," Gil said as he stepped back and cleared his throat.

"For _all_ of our losses." Baltra's voice wavered a bit, making Gil flush again. The king laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Now, my boy, is there anything you need? Anything at all? We are family, after all. We must take care of one another."

What did he need? The irony of such a statement was laughable. He needed a spell to turn back time, to go back three days ago, when his mother and aunt had gone to have tea with the queen, so he could warn them about the _thing_ that would come slinking through the shadows on a perfectly ordinary afternoon. To go back before his father had been murdered, before Margaret had come to him sobbing and holding a terrible secret, to tell himself to run and find help before it was too late. Or perhaps, even further, to when the Grand Masters were still Holy Knights that served Zaratras, to observe their behavior, to figure out _when_ and _how_ they had changed. To tell himself to watch and wait and listen, because betrayal was coming.

But such a thing was impossible, so Gilthunder shook his head. "Thank you, Sire. What of the monster that killed the queen, and my mother? Has there been any sign?"

Baltra sighed. "Don't worry about that. My knights will find the beast and have its head. In the meanwhile, you are quite safe here in the castle, and will remain until your uncle can make suitable arrangements. Although, I hope he allows you to continue on here. We would quite miss you if you were gone."

Gilthunder dropped his head, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Thank you for your generosity, Sire."

Safe in the castle? The irony tasted bitter. But Baltra only patted his shoulder and said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to say my goodbye to your mother. Rene was a lovely woman, and I know the queen held her dear to her heart." He sighed heavily, but Gil refused to look up and meet the watery eyes of the king. "She is with your father now, although that's not much comfort yet. But it will be, I'm sure."

With that, the king stepped away and around the casket. Gil blew out a breath he had not realized he was holding, his shoulders shaking a bit with the effort to keep his emotions in control. He breathed slowly in and out, the king's words echoing in his head. _A lovely woman… with your father now… the queen held her dear…_

"Gil." He jumped at his name, and when his eyes flew open, Veronica stood in front of him. She too was dressed in black, and for a moment he barely recognized her, her face full of emotion. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, and then incredibly, she pulled him into a tight hug.

Veronica was not one for affection, so he could not help the little huff of laughter that came out. "I'm sorry too, for the queen," he replied, and the two embraced for a long moment. They had known one another nearly their entire lives, so even though he was twelve and she was nine, they took a bit of comfort in one another, as siblings would.

When they stepped back, another hand was on his arm, and then little Elizabeth was there, pressing her face into his chest as she hugged him tightly. "Gil!" she wailed. "Gil, they're gone! They're gone!"

"I know," he said awkwardly, giving her a pat on the head. It was so sudden and startling that he did not have the chance to extract himself.

He looked at Veronica for help, but the princess only patted her sister's head comfortingly. "It's going to be okay, Elizabeth," she said sadly. "We're going to stick together."

Sniffling, the youngest princess blinked up at him, tears swimming in her eyes even as she clutched him tightly around the waist. "Are you very sad, Gil?" she asked. "I cried all yesterday, and then Veronica cried, and then I cried again––"

"Elizabeth!" Veronica chastised her with a harsh whisper, tugging on her hair gently. "Of course he's sad, don't be a goose."

"Sorry, Gil," she mumbled, and stepped back. But instead of letting him go, Elizabeth took his hands in hers, and sighed. "I hope you feel better soon."

A single tear slipped from her cheek and landed on the back of his hand… and somehow, he _did_ feel better, the tightly coiled knot that had lived in his stomach for days easing just a bit. He supposed it was the solidarity of having all lost their mothers in such an unexpected and frightful way. For a moment his mind flashed to Griamore, who he hadn't seen, but whose mother was also present at the tea. He was sure Griamore was doing even worse than he was, and it made him swallow uncomfortably.

"I heard you ask Father about the creature that killed them," Veronica whispered. "Are you going to try to find it?"

"I…" Gil frowned. He hadn't thought about that––after all, unlike the rest of them, he knew _exactly_ who was behind the attack. He had his suspicions, anyway; a creature like that, a demon if the rumors were to be believed, somehow getting into the castle on its own was highly unlikely. Of course, no one knew that he knew, or what he knew. He could probably seek a bit of vengeance on his own, and they would not try to retaliate.

"If you're going, I'm coming too," Veronica insisted, leaning in so only they could hear. "I'll kill that monster myself if I have to."

"Monster?" Elizabeth whispered, frightened. "Veronica, no! I don't want you to die too!"

She started crying again, and Veronica's face twisted into a strange sort of pain; but then Margaret hissed behind them, "Stop it, both of you."

All three looked over at the first princess. Her eyes were dry, her face drawn tightly, her hands clasped demurely before her. But Gilthunder recognized the whites of her knuckles, could see the slight way her arms trembled. "No one is hunting any monsters. The Holy Knights will take care of it. The way they always protect us." Her eyes lifted to his, and he could see nothing but cold resolve. "You're upsetting Gil. Let's go."

Neither princess gave a protest, and Elizabeth finally let him go just to turn and cling to Veronica. The two sisters headed for the door, and Margaret turned to follow them. "I'm sorry if my sisters upset you," she said softly, her eyes on the floor. "The girls have taken our mother's death quite hard."

"The whole kingdom mourns for the queen," he replied. His throat had gone dry, and it took everything within him not to look around for the shadow. And Margaret… there was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to tell her, but it was impossible.

The princess nodded. "Thank you, you are very kind." She drew in a deep breath, and Gil watched her hesitate, wondering what she planned to do next. But Margaret simply said, "Your lady mother was a beautiful woman. She was like a second mother to me, and I can only imagine your pain, Gil."

At that her voice broke a bit, and a fresh wave of hot tears rose behind his eyes. "I loved her very much," whispered Margaret.

There was another pause, as she gave him a chance to respond. But Gilthunder could not think of anything to say, so filled with misery and fear at that moment. He could only nod, and with the briefest look his way, Margaret walked back to the door to join her sisters.

* * *

 **A/N:** Took a bit of liberty with this one, since technically Margaret _did_ say it to him, just _about_ someone else. Oh well. I'm going to push myself to get a new chapter out each weekend from here on out. Thank you for continuing to read!


	11. With A Shuddering Gasp

**A/N: WARNING!** This chapter is rated M for explicit content.

* * *

 **11\. With A Shuddering Gasp**

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Margaret nodded, smiling. There was only one lamp lit, and the soft glow allowed her to see the seriousness in Gilthunder's face. "I'm sure," she replied.

Her smile widened when he swallowed visibly, but he only nodded in return. There was just a moment's hesitation, the briefest half-second as he made his own decision; then he stood, leaving Margaret to sit on the bed alone.

His cloak had been discarded already, along with her own. The only armor that signified his status as a knight was a pair of thinly plated shin guards and the belted scabbard, which had also been removed and tossed on a chair.

His hands went to his shirt, and Margaret slid to the edge of the bed as he began to open the buttons. Her heart did a little flip once he was done, her eyes wide and expectant when he pulled the fabric down his arms. Tossing it over to where the other things were laying, Gil next bent down and pulled the top fasteners of his boots. Margaret stifled a bit of a giggle as he hopped from one foot to the next when pulling off one and then the other.

Before he straightened she stood herself, reaching out to slide her palm over his shoulder and sliding it down the toned muscle of his back. This was not the first time they were skin to skin—there had been a handful of flurried moments of passion before—but this was a wholly different step for them. Slowly he straightened, and her palm flattened against his chest as her hand rounded his shoulder. Margaret could feel his heart beating under her touch, and she watched, fascinated, as his chest rose and fell with his slow, deep breathing.

Gil reached up his own hand, sliding his fingertips down her arm, from wrist to elbow. She shivered at the light touch, and he pushed the sleeve of her dress up to expose her skin. Their eyes met, but Margaret could not read his expression, his face now a silhouette in the dim light. So she took a step towards him, flattening her other palm on his stomach, and he bent down slightly to cover her mouth with his.

Their kisses had grown in passion too, starting with the feathered brushes of a stolen peck, then the one shared under the fireworks, where they had poured the tightly contained emotions of their captivity and healed one another. There were others, too, before Gil had left on his journey, with his hands in her hair and her hands clutching his shirt, not wanting to let him go but knowing he had to despite her own selfish wishes.

Then later, after he had returned, and Liones spent weeks in despair at the growing conflicts all around them. Gilthunder came to her for strength, and she did all she could, finding her own resolve to go on living as he stroked her body and she kissed his in return. Each day and night together had pushed them forward, even as the world had stopped. But something had kept them from sealing their love with the final step; something unspoken but understood between them had kept that last barrier between them.

When he was taken from her, Margaret had sworn to herself that she would be rid of that barrier once and for all, if she ever saw him again. There would be _nothing_ between them. Now they were here, the war over, Britannia and the world forever changed around them; but not the two of them. The two of them were the same as they had always been, for as long as there had _been_ a two of them.

As they kissed, his hands brushed her long hair back gently over her shoulders. The tips of his fingers traced the outline of her face, then down her neck, hovering over the buttons that snapped together at the collar of her dress. She gave a little breathless laugh against his mouth, and she felt his own lips curve into a smile against hers.

Margaret took pity on him then and pulled her face away, looking down to quickly undo the snaps on her own. Gilthunder's hands settled on her hips, the touch heavy but loving, reminding her of the strength that existed inside his body. She peeked to see him watching her hands deftly open the top; then once her collarbone was exposed, she ran her fingers along the open edge of the dress, her nerves making her tremble.

Gilthunder slid his hands from her hips to her back. Then carefully he tilted her backwards. Her chin lifted, allowing him to kiss her neck. The princess sighed and closed her eyes, her hands gripping his upper arms to hold her steady, arching her back slightly to give him full access to the curve of her neck and shoulders. He took advantage of her offering, covering her with slow kisses and the searing pass of his tongue, and Gil took his time until she was panting and her chest was heaving.

Then he gripped her dress from the back and began pulling, the fabric sliding down her body. Margaret moved her arms to help, and Gil followed the path with his mouth, her body bending as his mouth moved in a straight path from the hollow of her throat and down between her breasts. Then down, further still, as he went down on his knees before her, and Margaret was struck with the image, as if out of a fairy tale. The knight knelt before his princess, pulling the dress down her hips and legs, and Margaret shivered and gripped his shoulders to steady herself.

His mouth was hot on her stomach, and once the fabric was pooled on the floor his hands slid upwards along her calves, moving around to trace the outline of her thighs. She thought she heard him whisper her name, and then Gilthunder pressed his cheek on her hip and looked up at her.

She could see his face better now, and the sweet adoration in his eyes made her trembling stop. Margaret brushed his bangs back from his forehead, gazing down at him as her heart tightened; then he surprised her by scooping her into his arms as he stood back up all in one movement.

Margaret laughed and covered her eyes; she felt his own chuckle against her hip a moment before he laid her down on the bed. Instantly her arms were around him, the heavy blanket of anticipation broken. Now, they were both urgent, their hands deliberate in the way they caressed each other, their kisses searing and hot. Gilthunder grabbed her body roughly, and she arched into his hold, begging for more; she wrapped her legs around him, grinding against him until their bodies were both hot and aching, and he moaned against her skin.

Her head was spinning, the world too hot, the air too humid. Then he moved, kneeling up, and Margaret tried to catch her breath has he pulled frantically at his waistband, practically kicking off his pants before covering her body once again.

Moments later she felt him, heavy and hot and prodding against her thigh, and Margaret dug her hands into his hips and _pulled_ , wanting the throbbing part of him to be inside the aching part of her _now_. But Gilthunder resisted, instead nudging her open, his mouth moving along the curve of her breast as he whimpered out a gasp. She understood he was trying to slow down, make it last and make it slow so it wouldn't hurt her, but at that moment, Margaret did not care.

One hand grabbed his hair, and she pulled his mouth up to hers; the other pulled hard on his thigh, pulling him into her. With a shuddering gasp she felt him start to enter her body, and Margaret whispered, "I love you."

The final barrier was gone with the stretch of her body to envelop his. Her confession spurred him on, and then her world was nothing but his lips and the sound of his panting breaths and the feel of his hips hitting her thighs. It was pain and it was ecstasy, and when his hand moved between them and stroked her body she was lost.


End file.
